


Call on Me

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex, incredibly silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27079588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: Aziraphale needs some help. Crowley is patient.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 127
Collections: Ineffable Kinktober 2020





	Call on Me

**Author's Note:**

> My second attempt at Ineffable Kinktober by Quefish for yesterday's prompt Phone sex/dirty talk. 
> 
> I just don't know what I was thinking.

"Are you ready, angel?" 

As ready as Aziraphale ever would be. He had his glass of red topped up and a neatly handwritten list of things to say should his nerves get the better of him. This was going to be fine. Honestly. How difficult could it be?

"We don't have to do this right now." Crowley's voice was warm and sibilant in his ear. “I’ve no expectations of you.”

Aziraphale twisted the phone cord around his finger. "Quite alright. I'd like to try this. Have you, erm, made yourself comfortable?"

"Yes, all settled in." Crowley exhaled, bed springs creaked as he shifted position. "You."

"Yes." Aziraphale wiggled deeper into the cushions of his armchair. 

"OK, then, let's start with something easy. Tell me what you're wearing."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Crowley knew what he was wearing, but it would defeat the point of the exercise to say so. Aziraphale took a gulp of wine. The glass miraculously refilled itself. "My pyjamas. The blue cotton ones. And you?"

" Boxers. Took everything else off.” A pause. Aziraphale swore he could hear Crowley licking his lips. “That OK?" 

Aziraphale kept his eyes closed, shutting out the book shop's backroom and seeing only Crowley’s long body stretched out on soft sheets. It definitely quietened nerves and his body perked up. "Yes. Of course."

"You still got your reading glasses on?" 

"Hmm." 

"Leave them on, but undo your shirt…" 

Aziraphale tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder while his fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. 

"If I was there would you let me touch you?" Crowley asked

Aziraphale focused on Crowley’s voice and not the voices in his head, at war with the feelings pressing against his ribs. It'd be perfectly fine if this was just sex. Even sex to help someone heal. Even sex with Crowley. To heal Crowley.

Aziraphale had never been the one who was trying to heal before. 

The weight of his fear pressed down on him.

"Still with me, Aziraphale?" 

Crowley sounded worried, which wouldn't do at all. Honesty was the best policy wasn't it? "Yes, I'd let you touch me. I'd want you to. Would absolutely demand it." The words came too rushed, too high. 

“You sure?” Crowley needed more convincing. 

Slower, calmer Aziraphale said, “Yes, please Crowley. Talk to me. Tell me how you'd touch me.”

For a moment it sounded like Crowley was going to back out. Then he breathed in carefully. "I'd start with my hands, smoothing the palms over your ribs, stomach. Use my mouth too. My tongue tracing a line from your navel to your neck. Suck on your nipples. Can you feel it?" 

Aziraphale pushed his fingers into his mouth to wet them, then pinched at his nipples and imaging the heat of Crowley’s mouth. 

"Does it feel good?" Crowley’s own breath was uneven, which bolstered Aziraphale's courage. They could do this. He could do this. 

"It does. You always feel so good. You're so good to me Crowley…" Always so good. Always there, never pushing, just loving. Fear bit at Aziraphale. Don't think about it. He had to remember this was fun first and foremost. There was no pressure. Crowley had no expectations. It had been Aziraphale's idea for goodness sake. Having the separation to make saying it easier. 

"Are you touching yourself?" That had been on the list Aziraphale had written down, hadn't it? 

"A bit, through my boxers. Want to make this last." The shifting of springs through the phone line again. "But thinking about your hands on me, holding my hips down, your mouth on my cock. You've got such a talented mouth, angel."

"And I... I enjoy the taste of you, the weight of you on my tongue." This was familiar. An easy path to follow. 

"And you take me so deep."

Aziraphale groaned. He pushed down his trousers, hands running lightly over his own erection, spurred on by the delectable sounds of Crowley’s pleasure right in his ear. 

"You're fucking gorgeous angel. Do anything for you."

And Crowley would. He had. 

"Oh, Crowley. Oh lord Crowley!" It was an avalanche, a tidal wave. Before Aziraphale could acknowledge the emotion he was being tossed about in the middle of it. The fear ran straight after it. Claws and talons, and Gabriel’s voice in his head. Aziraphale fumbled for his list of appropriate phrases and it went fluttering to the floor.

Crowley gasped, bed springs creaking as he moved. “Anything, angel. Loving you is the best part of me.”

It was true. For both of them. Aziraphale bit his lip hard. He was free. They were free. He began stroking himself again. Not too hard, not too rushed as he tried to settle back into the physicality of it. “You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale managed. 

"Am I?" 

Just a hint of a lost boy in the way Crowley said it. It was not entirely the fishing for compliments tease he'd intended. Aziraphale's heart cracked open just a little bit more. 

"You're gorgeous," Aziraphale said firmly. This he could do. 

Crowley whined. Aziraphale began to stroke himself harder, focusing on the friction of skin on skin. Just the sensations of this mortal corporation. Of Crowley’s breathy, tender voice being more honest than Aziraphale had ever dared be with himself. 

"Tell me," Crowley gasped. 

The rolling force of Crowley's love nearly knocked Aziraphale's breath away. He couldn’t stop the words spilling out. "Your hair is glorious. It's the colour of temptation. I want to braid it with flowers! Have your head in my lap while I read you sonnets! Gosh, sorry, that's…" Too much. Too effusive. Too  _ weird.  _

"No. No. Sfine. Keep going,” Crowley begged.

"I-" There suddenly wasn’t enough language in the world to tame what Aziraphale felt. And yet the words still didn't feel enough. They'd been cheapened. Contaminated by Heaven. 

"Sok,” Crowley gasped. “I want to bring you chocolate. The expensive kind, or pastries. Whatever you'd like. I'll hunt down the most perfect brioche for you. Ask me, angel, I'll do it in a heart beat. Go anywhere."

Bugger Heaven. This wasn't about them. Focus on Crowley's voice, on the slick pumping of skin on skin. Don't think just feel. Honesty. 

"I'll shelter you from the storm." Aziraphale whispered. "Make space for you in my home. It's your home too, always has been. I love you so much." Aziraphale nearly dropped the phone at Crowley's jagged inhalation. 

Aziraphale clapped a hand over his mouth. Nothing happened. No lightning descended. 

"Can you, erm, say it again?" Crowley asked. “No bother if not. You did well, angel.”

And Aziraphale was still riding the thrill of it. The glow of his joy seeping out through his skin. He saw the flicker of it through his closed lids, but wouldn't break the spell by opening his eyes. Yes, he could say it again. "I love you Crowley." Not just words. And not an apology, or tinged with shame. “I love you Crowley.” There wasn't enough language in the world so Aziraphale began to work his way through all of the ones he knew. Including ones that no one else but Crowley could remember. 

Aziraphale was no longer touching himself, but it didn't seem to matter. His body was still alive with sensation, hanging on the brink of orgasm and ready to fall. "I love you Crowley. I love your eyes, your ears…" 

"Love you too, Aziraphale. Love your fussy, stupid, argh.. Fuck." A crash at the other end of the phone was drowned out by Crowley's moan. 

If anything had been broken, Aziraphale was too far gone in his own pleasure to care. He pulsed with it, bending forward in his chair. His own cry reverberating on several planes of reality and cracking the wine glass. 

The book shop drifted into  s ilence, apart from the steady drop of wine onto the rug. The phone lay abandoned on the floor where it had landed. Crowley's voice spilled from it. “Are you OK?" 

“ Erm, yes. Think so.” Aziraphale wiped his eyes. When had he started crying? 

“ Don't move. Not a muscle.” 

“ Yes. Alright.” Aziraphale did however, miracle away the mess. 

A door opened upstairs. Feet thudded on the stairs and then Crowley must have given up on physics because a whoosh of a miracle shifted the air. Crowley stood before Aziraphale, still only in his boxers and his wings spread out behind him.

Aziraphale didn’t move, except to look up and say. “Love you.”

Crowley put his hands over his mouth to hide his laugh. 

Aziraphale smiled back and opened his arms so Crowley could climb on to his lap. 


End file.
